


Keep Me Like Your Promises

by roamingbadger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fingering, Loss of Virginity, Ross from Friends voice: they were on a break, first there's actual porn, then there's emotional porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 07:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roamingbadger/pseuds/roamingbadger
Summary: “I want you to sleep with me,” she said. A blush suffused her freckled cheeks. Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Please.”*In the summer of her sixteenth year, Ginny meets with Draco Malfoy to make a very strange request. Twenty-two years later, their sons' disappearances bring them together once again. In spite of all that's passed between them, one thing is certain: a Malfoy always keeps his promises.





	Keep Me Like Your Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely readers!
> 
> I saw Harry Potter and the Cursed Child in NYC last weekend and couldn't get this story out of my head. One week of feverish writing later and here is the result. I love the unexplored depths of both of these characters and did my best to push a bit further into their heads. And, oh yeah, the porn. ;) 
> 
> The present day scenes take place after Draco visits Harry and Ginny in their home in Cursed Child (all but one). The past scenes take place after Bill and Fleur's wedding at the start of DH.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

PRESENT

 

_We need to talk. Leaky Cauldron tomorrow, seven o’clock sharp. Come alone._

Ginny stared at the note so long the letters blurred. There wasn’t a signature. He didn’t need one. She knew his writing.

Clearing her head with a shake, she dipped her quill and wrote a quick reply.

_I’ll be there._

Harry tapped on their bedroom door just as the owl took off from the window. “What was that?” he asked as he came in.

 “Just a work thing,” she lied, suppressing a sharp prick of guilt. “No news about Albus. I’m sorry, Harry.”

He came across the room and squeezed her shoulders. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pick fights with you, Gin. You always win.”

She reached up and squeezed his hand. “Not _always_.” It was meant to be playful, but it came out a smidge too bitter. That note—it had reminded her of a day in the summer before her sixth year, a day she’d done a great job of forgetting since then—

Harry’s hands tensed on her shoulders. “Can I do anything?” he asked her.

She sucked in a deep, steadying breath, forcing the memory from her head. “Dinner, I think. I’m starving. Aren’t you?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite these days,” he admitted.

She stood, and his hands fell heavily to his sides. “Then perhaps we can change that.”

#

The next evening, it was Ginny’s turn to lose her appetite as she approached the Leaky Cauldron. She told herself she had nothing to feel guilty for, she was doing nothing wrong, but she was glad all the same that the drizzly rain warranted a heavy-hooded cloak. When she got inside, no one glanced twice at her, and she let out a breath of relief as she slipped unseen up the stairs. Room seven, fourth floor. That’s where he would be.

She paused outside the door. Her heart beat heavily in her ears. The years—decades—had not been kind to this door, but then again, its dark wood had been rather scarred when she was sixteen, too.

And her hands had been trembling just as much.

Standing up straighter, she lifted her chin. _She_ was different now. The world was different. And he was different, too.

She pushed her way inside.

The room was dim, but a fire in the grate sent its friendly glow across to where Ginny stood. She pulled the door shut with a click and locked it. Then she turned to face the man in the chair across the room.

Draco Malfoy.

And all of a sudden, the memories came rushing back.

#

PAST

 

Heads turned in the Leaky Cauldron as Draco Malfoy strode inside. He saw fear flash across the faces of the wizards and witches slumped at the bar. A few of them even sat up straighter, one witch digging in her pocket. _The faster to pay her tab_ , he thought.

His mere presence chased people away these days.  

His father would say that’s what power was all about: making people fear you. But each time Draco cleared a room, he felt the opposite of powerful.

He felt ashamed.

He forced his chin up a notch higher. Let his pride counteract that sick feeling in his stomach. It had always worked before. “A room. Something private. Nicest you’ve got,” he asked of the stunned barkeep.

“R-right away, sir.” The man fumbled behind the counter, trailing his fingers over keys hanging on the back wall. Draco’s saw his veined old hands start to shake before they closed over a key labeled 47. “Here you go, sir. Best suite in the place. Shall I b-bring something up to your room?”

“I’ll have a glass of firewhiskey. Neat. And then I don’t wish to be disturbed.” Draco’s voice came out cool and collected, but inside, a Thestral galloped across his chest. At any moment, he thought the barkeep would burst out laughing. He’d poke fun at the boy who faked his own importance.

Who needed a glass of firewhiskey to face down a stupid, freckle-faced _girl._

“Very good, sir,” said the barkeep instead, nodding profusely. Draco took the key he handed over and marched to the stairs. The weight of all the eyes in the room followed upon his shoulders. He shook the feeling off. He was almost there. What was the worst that could happen?

He fingered the wand in his trouser pocket for a bit of comfort. She’d try to stun him. Kill him, maybe. He could disarm her. That was the point of arriving early.

He had nothing to fear.

Thirty minutes later, he had almost convinced himself of that fact. His fingers tapped the plush velvet of his armchair, something rich and green that would’ve fit right in at Malfoy Manor. The firewhiskey burned deep in his belly, blotting out the sick anticipation that started to rise up his throat. But it wasn’t enough to drown the larger sensation—that of cold fingers trailing their way down his spine.

He fingered his empty glass.

Then he heard a rustle in the hallway outside. A light step rose on the stairs and a delicate tread stopped outside his door. His heart pounded in his ears. He set down his glass and pulled out his wand in one swift movement, rising from the chair.

Then the door opened, and Ginny Weasley slipped inside.

“Expelliarmus,” he said in a quick rush, almost tripping over the word. Her wand arced from her outstretched fingers and landed, light and cool, in his palm.

She shot him a glare from across the room as she closed and locked the door. “Are you expecting me to be impressed?”

“I don’t know, Weasley. Are you?” The words slipped easily from his tongue, loosened as it was by the firewhiskey. This, he realized, was the reason he had come. After months cooped up in the Manor, doing whatever he could to avoid the others in the house, Draco was aching for a good spar.

It would almost put things back to normal.

“Hardly,” she said, and her voice was too calm, her raised eyebrow too collected. “I don’t need a wand to kick your arse.”

He lifted his own wand, now aiming at her, and she didn’t even flinch. Damn her. Her glare only grew hotter.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. Her voice grew low and cold. “Kill me?”

It only took two words, and not even magic ones. No, these were the simplest two words in existence. And yet they were enough to take Draco back to that dark night on the Astronomy Tower, a different night when he had his wand poised. The man on the other side looked nothing like Ginny.

The room began to spin. Draco lowered his wand.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, spitting mad. “Coward.”

The word washed over him and through him. He’d thought it about himself too many times to count. It had lost meaning, now. He sat down in the plush armchair again, setting his wand on the table beside him. He set hers down next to it. They were strange side-by-side: hers light and delicate, feminine; his dark and severe. He glanced up at her. “What do you want, Weasley?”

Her jaw worked for a moment, and he thought he might have actually surprised her. _One point to me,_ he thought.

When she seemed to accept that he wasn’t going to rise to her bait—or better yet, attack her—she stepped forward into the room. The fire in the grate was the only light in the place, it being cloudy and gray outside, and as soon as she stepped into its flickers, she glowed. Sunkissed freckled skin, hair the color of rubies—Draco couldn’t stop his gaze from trailing her up and down. She was annoying as hell, and she was a Potter-loving idiot, but damn, she was beautiful.

His eyes landed back on hers. The daggers she sent him only added to her appeal. The thought amused him. Had she known all those times he pissed her off, calling her Weasle in the hallways, just to make her look like that—she probably would have learned how to smile at him.

Then he imagined her smiling, and his gut clenched. No, that wouldn’t be a very good thing. Not for him.

Still glaring, Ginny reached up and untied the woolen knot at her neck. The heavy cloak she wore slid down her shoulders, and she let it fall to the floor. There was something sensuous about that unveiling—even more so when she stepped delicately around it and perched on the end of the bed, crossing her legs. Her long, athletic legs, currently adorned with white stockings up to her knees. A few inches of skin were showing between the top of her stockings and the bottom of her black skirt.

Draco resisted the urge to groan.

Protected by the sides of the heavy armchair, he clenched his fists against his thigh instead. “I’m getting impatient, _Weasle_ ,” he said.

She folded her hands in her lap. Blinked at him from across the room. Merlin’s beard, did the girl actually have the grace to look _abashed_?

Then she said the very last thing he was expecting to hear.

“I want you to sleep with me,” she said. A blush suffused her freckled cheeks. Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Please.”

#

PRESENT

 

Draco stood from that familiar green armchair, his hand stretching out to shake Ginny’s. He seemed to think better of it at the last second, and he pulled his palm back. She made no further move to enter the room.

She’d seen him a lot lately—more of him than she’d ever thought she would, if she were being honest. That was part of why she’d chosen him—before. He was still handsome in that pale, drawn way he’d been as a teenager, only now the shadows under his eyes were for different reasons. Grief had changed him.

It had changed all of them.

“Hello, Draco,” she said, still pressing her back against the door.

He cleared his throat. “Ginny,” he said, in that deep growl of his. Then he stepped aside and waved for her to take the chair. “Please, sit.”

“I’d rather you told me why we’re here,” she said. Not unkindly, she thought, although her voice did waver a little. No, she was just being straight with him.

She felt she owed him that.

He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, and frustration flitted across his face. Then his eyes opened, cold gray marble, and he shook his head. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to find my son.”

“And you invited me here.” She glanced around the room, then back to him, significance in her voice. “To this room.”

He straightened uncomfortably. Was that a flush rising on his cheeks? Two high red marks, just as she remembered from—from before. She shook the memory loose as he said, “It seemed the easiest way to see you without that—that husband of yours in tow.”

“And why shouldn’t Harry be here?” Her heart was beating fast.

“It’s not like that,” Draco said in a low voice, clearly agitated now. “I just want to talk.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. There was a strain of desperation in his voice—and that smacked of truth. She’d gotten better at reading him of late. “All right,” she said, though her knees were shaking. She crossed to the bed and sat down, looking up at him. “Let’s talk.”

#

PAST

 

Ginny’s heartbeat pounded into the silence that had descended upon the room.

“I’m sorry,” said Draco in a strained voice. “What did you just say?”

“I said I want you to sleep with me.” Once she’d said it the first time, it wasn’t nearly so hard to get out. Though his eyes were rather wide, and he was staring at her as if she’d started speaking Mermish. That was to be expected, she supposed.

“Please.”

That startled her. “What?”

“You want me to sleep with you, _please,_ ” he said, and as he spoke the word, his eyes flashed with something she couldn’t quite name. It made her pulse pick up.

“So you did hear me,” she said.

“I did,” he said. “I just couldn’t believe it.”

“Well,” she said, and then she shrugged.

“Did you put something in my drink?” he asked. His cheeks were turning red, two high banners across those aristocratic bones.

“Your drink?” She found the empty glass on his nightstand. “No. I didn’t know you had one.” Firewhiskey. A good idea, she thought, with a flash of regret. She should have gone for that herself.

“Are you cursed?” he asked. “Dying? Is this some kind of trick?”

“None of the above,” Ginny said after a moment, “though I can understand why you might think so. Plenty of girls would sooner die than sleep with you.”

He snorted. “Nice try, Weasle. A bit lacking in sting, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You just propositioned me,” he said, waving a hand at her. “About thirty seconds ago.”

“Doesn’t mean you have a line out the door, does it?” She glanced over at the door because she knew it would annoy him. Sure enough, when her eyes found his face again, his jaw was set in irritation. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Malfoy.”

“Wouldn’t know,” he said. “Never had to beg.” The coolness of his tone more than delivered his message. But for some reason, the old insult didn’t sting. If anything, it felt _good_ to hear Malfoy implying that she was poor again. It was such a small thing compared to the war outside. It was almost . . . normal.

“So, what will your answer be?” she asked, sitting up a bit taller.

“You’re not serious?” he asked. But his eyes trailed down to her crossed legs and lingered there. She couldn’t read his expression in the dim firelight.

“I am.”

“What’s in it for me?” he asked.

She scoffed. “You get to sleep with me,” she said.

He chuckled. It was low and rich and surprising, a sound she’d never heard from him. Not like that. Like he was genuinely amused. “That’s a good one, Weasle.” The old nickname sounded almost endearing.

“Like you wouldn’t say the same about yourself,” she said.

“Well, that’s true.” His voice came out calm and steady. But he was sliding his fingers around the rim of his whiskey glass as he spoke, and Ginny caught the slightest tremble in them that belied his easy tone. He was nervous.

Good. So was she.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, he dropped his hand. “No. Sorry, Weaslette, but I don’t take charity cases.” He stood to go.

Ginny stood, too, blocking his path. She had no idea what she would say to stop him. The truth was, he was right—she was crazy. This was a breakdown, a desperate plea, the last adventure of a basketcase on her way to insanity. But she said the first words that came to mind anyway. “It’ll be the best revenge,” she blurted.

Draco froze. His eyes narrowed, and she understood for a moment what it felt like to be a mouse caught in the gaze of a hawk. “Explain,” he said.

#

PRESENT

 

Draco took his seat carefully, studying Ginny on her perch at the end of the bed. She still wore her cloak, covered as it was in raindrops, as if he would rip it off her and start ravishing her right there and then. He almost rolled his eyes. Sex was the last thing on his mind these days.

These months, if he was being honest.

But she wasn’t here to be his therapist, either. He cleared his throat, steepling his fingers. “I want to know if Harry is any closer to refuting that disgusting rumor about my son.”

She sighed. “He’s not, Draco. You know he’s not.”

Anger rose in his chest. “Not even after . . .?”

“After you came over to our house and started hexing him? No, that didn’t exactly change his mind.” It was her turn to get angry. Her eyes sparked from across the room.

He almost smiled, but caught himself just in time. That look on her face had its charm, he had to admit. “It’s not my fault the head of magical law enforcement is so quick to draw his wand.”

“Actually, it is your fault, and you know it,” she said. “You push his buttons deliberately.”

Draco shrugged, glancing away toward the fire. “They’re so easy to push.”

“Draco . . .”

He almost smiled at the exasperation in her voice. But the urge faded when he remembered how his recent visit to the Potters’ had ended. He turned his gaze to her, studying her more closely now. She was drawn beneath her freckles, far more pale than usual, and he thought he spotted a few gray hairs mixed in with the vibrant ginger. “Did you mean it?” he asked.

She looked surprised. “Mean what?”

“What you said the other night. About . . . about being jealous of them.” Draco’s voice caught a bit on the words. “The Golden Trio.” By a huge effort of will, he managed not to imbue the term with quite his normal amount of sarcasm.

Ginny shook her head, but her eyes were soft. A curl turned up the edges of her lips. “Yes, I meant it. Every word. You think it wasn’t hell, wandering around after them?” She picked at a loose thread in the duvet where she sat. “I wanted so desperately to be a part of that. The inner circle. But it’s—something special.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t for me.”

Draco cleared his throat, turning back to the fire. He was afraid of what might be in his eyes if she were to glance up. Pain, desperation, envy—he’d felt all that and more, thinking about Harry and his friends. It was a comfort to him, however twisted it might seem, to know that she felt it, too. That he wasn’t alone. “How do you stand it?” he asked.

“Having Harry’s babies seems to have helped my status,” she said drily, “but I don’t know how much good that’ll do you.” The words startled him into a low chuckle. She gave him a small smile in return, and a comfortable silence settled between them. After a time, though, his amusement dulled as he remembered just _who_ those babies were.

Albus. His son’s best friend.

“That’s why I had to see you,” he said. “Ginny, we need to go through everything again. Every detail of every conversation our sons have ever had around us.” He locked gazes with her, letting some of his need slip into his voice, his eyes. He was better at that, now. He no longer used the mask he’d learned how to wear as a child.

She noticed. He saw it in the way her face hardened—not with dislike, but with a determination to match his own. “All right,” she said. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

#

PAST

 

“Revenge,” Ginny repeated, her face unreadable. “You know. On Harry.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. Clearly something had snapped the little Weasle’s mind in the last few months. At the sound of Harry’s name—the way her voice cracked a little—he understood what it was. “Ah. That’s what this is about.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You want to get revenge on your little boyfriend. For breaking up with you. Is that it?”

Her cheeks turned red beneath the freckles. At the look on her face, he was glad that her wand sat on a table across the room. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in low tones.

“Actually, I do. I know people at Hogwarts, you see. They told me all about the tearful little breakup they witnessed at D—at the funeral.”

“You can’t even say his name,” Ginny said, and he flinched. She _would_ catch that. Keen-eared she-devil.

“I’m not interested in Potter’s leavings,” said Draco coolly, though his palms were beginning to sweat a little. “Thanks all the same, Weaslette. You’ve given me a good story, though I doubt anyone will believe—”

“You can’t even say Dumbledore’s name,” she repeated more loudly, and despite his best efforts, a chill shook down his spine at her words. “You can’t even say it, and you wanted to kill him. You _are_ a coward.” Her eyes burned into him. “That’s why you’re saying no. You’re _afraid._ ”

He’d let it wash over him before, but not this time. This time, her words burrowed into him. They dug down deep, into the wet core of him, the part that was usually so protected by layers and layers of stone. And he couldn’t bear the feeling of them. So he decided to teach her a lesson.

He latched a hand on the back of her head, pulled her forward, and kissed her. Hard. With tongue.

She gave a muffled cry, which he absorbed with a deeper press of his lips. Then, abruptly, her mouth yielded to his, and he was so surprised he staggered forward, pressing her against the door. As her back straightened, he felt all of her—her pert breasts pressing into his chest, her hardening nipples, the tops of her thighs. His cock responded immediately, stiffening into her stomach, and his limbs began to tingle at the sudden loss of blood.

His mind went numb.

He was snogging Ginny fucking Weasley. And she was snogging him back.

She tasted of firewhiskey and cinnamon, sharp and warm. Her tongue warred with his until he thought she would devour him, like some kind of succubus. His chest rose and fell, pressing deeper against her breasts with each breath, until finally he came to his senses and pulled away.

His hand disobeyed him, staying tangled in that glorious red hair.

Her eyes were wide, her lips plump and parted. He barely had time to savor the expression she wore—one of complete and utter shock—before his words slipped out. “Who’s afraid now?”

She was breathing as heavily as he was. He could feel her breath at the hollow of his throat. What surprised him most, though, was the quickly-shuttered vulnerability that stole over her expression at his words. He _saw_ those chocolate-brown eyes go soft, and he saw them harden up just as quickly.

He was curious despite himself.

But before he could say anything else, she said, “Kiss me again.”

“What?” His fingers twitched in her hair. His cock twitched in his trousers.

“Kiss. Me. Again,” she said, enunciating each word with a flash of teeth. His eyes landed on her lips. His body pressed into hers without his consent. And then he thought, _Fuck it._

And he did.

#

PRESENT

 

“ . . . and then,” said Ginny, laughing, “Albus said he had to finish his book. _Hogwarts, a History_!” She covered her grin with her hands. “You should’ve seen Harry’s face. It was priceless.”

“Never read it, did he?” Draco shook his head. “Bloody Potter. Did about as much work as Goyle and he was still the teachers’ favorite.”

Ginny’s grin shrank. “It’s true.” She stared into the fire. “He owes just about every mark except Defense Against the Dark Arts to Hermione.”

Draco sat back in the chair. “He never needed much help with that.”

“No.” The silence became somber. Ginny began to drift outside herself, seeing her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward and laughed and joked about her contrary, wonderful son with _Draco Malfoy_ of all people—and all of a sudden, it was back. The anxiety. The fear. The constant refrain: _Is Albus all right? Is he safe? Will I ever see him again?_

As if he could read the look on her face, Draco leaned toward her. “It’ll be all right, Ginny. We’ll find them. I promise you that.”

“I know,” she said, but her voice quavered more than she would’ve liked. “I know we will,” she repeated, more firmly, half to herself.

Then Draco did something that surprised her completely. He reached out from the arm of his plush velvet chair and put his hand over hers on the bedspread. Just a quick, warm squeeze—then it was gone, back to his lap, safely removed. But it was enough. It was . . . precious. Comforting.

Ginny felt a rush of strange affection for him. It wasn’t like the hot, mixed-up, crazy-making feeling she’d left the Leaky Cauldron with twenty-two years prior. This was different: a quiet kind of satisfaction in the man that he’d become. She might even call it . . . pride. She cleared her throat. “Your son is very special, Draco.”

A puzzled expression crossed his face. “I know.”

“I suppose he gets that from you,” she said.

“Hardly.” His voice went very quiet. “He gets that from Astoria.”

Astoria Malfoy, nee Greengrass. Ginny had read her obituary in the _Prophet_ before it was printed. One of the advantages of being an editor there. Only it hadn’t felt like an advantage. Instead, it had left her wandering about the office in a kind of purposeless depression for the rest of the day. She’d ended up going home early with a headache, leaving her assistant in charge. Harry had asked her what was wrong, and she couldn’t say. She couldn’t even explain it to herself. She just felt . . . sad.

“She seemed like a wonderful woman,” she said now, and it came out weak and empty. Not nearly enough.

But it prompted a soft smile from Draco’s lips, and for a moment, he became a different, much younger man. “She was,” he said. The smile faded all too quickly. He was drawn again, quiet, and Ginny knew what he was thinking.

“We’ll find them, Draco. We’ll find Scorpius. Remember? You promised. Just now.”

He nodded, looking away. Were those unshed tears in his eyes? The idea so shocked Ginny that she hardly heard his response. “Of course. A Malfoy always keeps his promises.”

#

PAST

 

Ginny found herself pressed up against the door once more as Draco’s tongue swirled around her mouth. His fingers dug into her scalp. Each place that his body pressed against hers became extremely sensitized, starting with her bare knees as they brushed against his trousers. She’d never thought of her knees as an erogenous zone. Yet as Draco pressed her even flatter against the wall, they began to shake and quiver with the feel of him.

His hardness pressed into her stomach, sending it swooping. This was really happening.

And it felt _good._

Draco wasn’t like any boy she’d ever kissed before. She’d spent far too much time wondering what this kiss would feel like, late at night when there was no one around to judge. And now the joke was on her sleepless self, because there was no way she’d imagined _this._ He tasted sweet and minty, with a hint of alcohol, and that sharp edge made her long for more.

He pulled back. His eyes were very dark now, almost black. “Any other demands, Weasley?”

A spike of adrenaline made the room spin. She was too far gone to stop. She felt _powerful._ “Go over to the end of the bed and sit down.”

He stared at her, his face diamond-hard. “Say please,” he said in a low growl. The sound rubbed over her skin, raising goosebumps.

“Please,” she said. His eyes flashed with something sharp and hungry. Ginny felt an answering thirst in herself, and her throat grew dry.

Still with his hand in her hair, he backed them away from the door, until his knees hit the bed and he sat down. “Now what?” he asked. She was short enough that he could keep his hand on her head even while sitting. His knees splayed out, leaving room for her to press right up between them.

“Now I’m going to take my shirt off,” she said. She was proud of how steady her voice came out, although her insides had turned to jelly. Draco’s eyes did that thing again, going predatory and sharp, and she grew breathless.

Then, slowly, he lowered his hand from her hair. “Let’s see, then,” he said. If his casualness was also forced, his voice didn’t betray it. He could as easily have been asking to see her bloody pygmy puff.

Bastard.

She determined to wipe that blank expression off his face. Her hands were steady as they moved to her topmost button. Draco’s eyes snapped there like a wolf’s to prey. She popped the button open.

His pupils dilated.

She moved lower, letting the crisp cotton of her shirt brush against the tips of her fingers. His eyes traced her fingers’ path. When she freed the second button, he licked his bottom lip.

Her fingers moved again. He was frozen. She hesitated over the third button, waiting until his fingers flexed on his thighs in anticipation. Then she unbuttoned it.

The tops of her lacy pink bra peeked above her open shirt, and his hands clenched into fists.

“Would you like to have a go?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “No, thank you,” he said. “Carry on.”

She was pleased to find his voice was not so steady that time. As she undid the rest of the buttons, savoring each one, his eyes grew darker and darker until she was afraid she would drown in them. Her pulse raced.

After far too long, the last button popped free.

Draco lifted his hands then, shakily, and ran his palms over her shoulders, pushing the shirt down to her elbows. The sleeves tangled there, trapping her arms, and he held them that way with a firm grip.

She was trapped. A thrill went through her at the thought.

“What next?” Draco asked in a hoarse voice. His eyes snagged on her breasts and stayed there.

“You could touch them,” Ginny said. “If you want.”

His eyes flicked to her face. “I want to do more than touch them.”

She shivered. “All right, then.” How hard it was to keep the desperate need from her voice just then. If she wasn’t careful, this would get embarrassing. _Touch me. Kiss me. Show me all the things I want to learn._

_Help me feel less alone._

The thought startled her—no, frightened her—and she shoved it hastily back down where it belonged. This wasn’t about feelings. This was about lust, pure and simple, and the one person who could slake it for her without Harry ever knowing.

Yes, she told herself firmly. That was all.

Draco distracted her then far more effectively than she could distract herself by running his hands up her stomach until each one cupped a pink-clad breast.

She sucked in a gasp. His palms covered most of her, his thumbs smack on each of her nipples, and as he rubbed them in slow circles, his eyes fell closed. Safely hidden from his gaze, she allowed herself to close her eyes, too, to savor the exquisite sensation of him. It was almost painful, that slow roll of his thumbs. His skin burred across her lace bra. Just when she thought her nipples couldn’t get any harder, they rose to his touch, longing for more.

Then, before she could open her eyes, the pressure was gone. She let out a low moan of protest before she could stop herself.

And then moaned again as lips closed over her right breast.

Draco mumbled something that she couldn’t catch. Probably because his tongue was circling her nipple. The wet heat of it soaked through her bra and went straight to the core of her, between her thighs. Her legs began to shake a little.

Draco trailed his mouth across to her other breast, suckling the nipple through her bra. She chewed her lip, afraid to move, afraid he would stop. His teeth closed on it, just barely, and she moaned again.

Damn. Was that really all it took to make her this weak?

She forced her eyes open. Draco pulled back, staring up at her through tousled white hair. When had that happened? When had he become so disheveled looking, so thoroughly debauched? Oh, Merlin, her hands had been running over his scalp and she hadn’t even noticed. His hair was soft and feather-light between her fingers.

She pulled her hands away.

He stripped her shirt the rest of the way off. Cool air brushed over the two wet patches of her bra, making her shiver.

“Thoughts?” he asked her, his voice a murmur she’d never heard from him before.

“It . . . was . . . fine.”

“Fine?” He sat a bit straighter. “Fine? Bloody hell, Weasley, what are you trying to prove—that Potter’s a fucking sex god?”

Holy shit, he was actually offended. She shifted uncomfortably, longing to bring her hands up and block her breasts from his view. Her body grew hot with the kind of all-over flush that meant she was turning red from forehead to ankles. “I don’t know, what do girls normally say? It was bloody amazing, Draco, please do it again?”

Were those spots of red on his cheeks, too? “Something like that,” he muttered.

“Well, I guess I have higher standards than most of Slytherin,” she said haughtily, knowing it would drive him mental. It was easier to piss him off than to tell him the truth.

No one had ever done that to her before.

In fact, beyond kissing, all of this was going to be new.

She didn’t want to scare him off with that information, so she goaded him instead. And it worked: his eyes flashed with anger and he half-rose from the bed.

She pushed him back down. “Don’t move,” she said, letting anger take over, and though his jaw hardened, he obeyed. “Take off your shirt,” she demanded.

“You do it,” he countered.

“Fine.” She meant to rip it over his head. Serve him right if the buttons popped off or the expensive fabric tore. But as her fingers slipped under the hem to start tearing and clawing, they brushed against the skin of his lower abdominals, and she felt him tighten.

She froze.

“What?” he asked. He sounded almost worried.

She poked her finger into his stony flesh. “Is this some kind of joke?”

His brow wrinkled in puzzlement for a moment before his face smoothed into a cocksure smile. “It’s called exercise, Weasley. I do it from time to time.”

She poked him again. She heard him suck in a quick breath and wondered if she’d hurt him somehow. “I never thought you had it in you.” Curious now, she made quick work of his buttons, and he went very still and she freed the last one and pulled his shirt open.

Merlin’s beard on toast. Draco Malfoy had _abs._

She had to reign in her reaction when she caught a glimpse of his smug expression. “All right,” she said. “It’s not like you’re the only man in Britain with a six-pack.” But her fingers belied her nonchalance as they trailed of their own accord across his waistline and up, up, up to his nipples. She brushed past the delicate pink nubs, and whatever comeback Draco had prepared died on his lips.

_Ha,_ she thought.

She bent down and kissed him, first on the right, then on the left.

She savored his sharp intake of breath with each kiss. _Two can play at that game,_ she told herself in triumph.

With a sudden movement, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her bodily from the floor, pulling her down next to him on the bed until they lay facing one another. She frowned, upset at her loss of position. But then she realized how close they were, and all thoughts of complaint fled.

His face was inches from hers. She could feel the heat coming off his exposed chest and see the not-unflattering tent created by his cock beneath his trousers. _His cock._ Her eyes caught there and lingered. That was going to go—

Draco shifted, drawing her gaze back to his face. “I thought redheads weren’t supposed to wear pink,” he said. His eyes were back on her breasts.

She flushed, probably making the lace clash even worse. “What can I say. I’m a rebel.”

A flash of humor quirked his lips. “You are that.” It was oddly affectionate, and Ginny didn’t know how to respond. So she remained quiet and still as he propped himself up on his left elbow and slowly, slowly, began to trail his right hand down her arm. Over her stomach. Up between her breasts. Down over her nipple.

Each stroke made her less aware of the way her belly looked from this position and more aware of the way her breasts strained against their restrictive lace; the way wetness pooled between her thighs; the way her stomach clenched with each pass of his soft fingers. She shivered as he ran his hand up her side, all the way to her neck and back to her waist again.

And then it drifted lower.

“What made you choose me, Weaslette?” he asked in a low voice.

She couldn’t look at his eyes. She focused on the hollow of his throat instead, as his fingers drifted down the sides of her skirt. She jumped as they met the skin above her knees and began their slow, meandering path beneath her hem. “It’s easier this way,” she said, mesmerized despite herself. He could pull the truth from her with the brush of those fingers. “No feelings.”

His fingers stilled for a moment, and she worried she had ruined it all, but then they kept moving. “Ah,” was all he said.

His fingers reached mid-thigh, and they drifted from the outside to the inside. Ginny’s leg quivered.

“And I didn’t think anyone else would say yes,” she said quickly. An instant later, she regretted volunteering the information. His hand had gone still again, and his eyes found hers with such an intense stare she was forced to meet it.

“You didn’t think any of the other teenage boys you know would agree to sleep with you,” he said, deadpan.

“N-No,” she replied. She shimmied a little, hoping to get his hand moving again.

Instead, he clenched her thigh, holding her in place. And then he surprised her utterly. He used her name.

“Ginny,” he said, “you are an idiot.”

She sat up and pushed herself away from him, letting his hand fall away. Indignant anger rushed up to fill the sudden void left by her receding desire. “I’m not an idiot. You try having six terrifying older brothers and an ex-boyfriend who is literally a hero.”

“Terrifying?” His eyebrow rose. “Try again.”

“Maybe not to you,” she said hotly. “But to just about every other male at Hogwarts, yes. Why else do you think I’m still a virgin?”

The word slipped out before she could think, before she could stop it, and now it filled the air between them, huge and unmovable.

_Virgin._

“I’m sorry,” said Draco, his face going blank. “You’re a _what?_ ”

#

PRESENT

 

_A Malfoy always keeps his promises._ The words were a stone dropped in the water of the past, the ripples only now reaching the present.

“And you did keep your promise, didn’t you?” Ginny asked. “You never told anyone. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting that.”

 “You think I _wanted_ to tell?” His eyebrows drifted toward his forehead. He had composed himself, all the emotion from earlier fading behind his surprise. “I like my limbs where they are, thanks.”

Ginny snorted. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anyone?”

“That wasn’t even true at the time,” he said, “but it’s certainly not true now. Harry would kill me.”

“We were broken up,” Ginny pointed out. “He has no right—”

Draco gave her a Look, his skepticism clear, and she shut her mouth. “Okay, fine,” she said, shaking her head. “He’d eviscerate you. No wand required.”

Draco grimaced. “So uncivilized. Always was.”

Ginny laughed at his expression of distaste. At the sound, his expression blanked, then lightened into a small smile. He glanced down to where his hands rested lightly on his knees.

“It’s strange to think about, isn’t it?” he said to the carpet. “What happened before.”

“Very,” said Ginny. “But I can’t pretend I didn’t, from time to time.”

His head snapped up. He seemed startled by her admission, but she felt only relief. For twenty-two years, she’d kept this particular secret—and she would keep it for twenty-two more, and years and years after until she died with it. But it got burdensome, keeping a secret like that: one so explosive and life-changing that it seemed impossible for others not to read it on her face.

“So did I,” Draco said, his growl going soft and low. “Every so often, I would remember, and wonder if I’d dreamt the whole thing.”

Ginny felt a pang in her chest. “Me, too. I thought about writing it down, just so I’d know it was real, but . . . too risky.” She gave him a crooked smile. “There wasn’t much privacy in my house, and even less at Hogwarts, that year.”

“Can you imagine Snape confiscating _that?_ ” Draco’s lips curled up. “The look on his face—”

Ginny smothered her laughter behind a hand. “It would almost have been worth it.”

“For you, maybe.” Draco rubbed his palm as if it itched for his wand. “It would’ve been the end for me.”

“From Snape?”

“From _anyone._ My father—” He hesitated. “Voldemort—”

Ginny shivered. A hush fell between them. Quietly, she said, “They probably would have congratulated you. Assumed it was your way of getting back at—at Harry, or—”

“It wasn’t about that,” Draco said firmly, cutting her off, and she was surprised by the stormcloud that filled his expression. “In the end, it was just about . . .”

Ginny stared at him. She’d ached to hear him talk about this for twenty-two years. Always wondering, never quite sure, and now her wish was coming true. So why did her knuckles turn white as she pulled her cloak closer? And why did she feel a swooping sensation in the region of her stomach, something queasy and tight?

“ . . . It was about us.” A streak of red unfurled across his cheeks as he spoke. “You. Me. Together. Nothing else.”

_You. Me. Together._

Ginny let out her breath.

#

PAST

 

First Draco had doubted his reason. Now he began to doubt his hearing.

“I’m a virgin,” said Ginny defiantly, though her face was as red as her hair. “So what?”

Draco backed away across the bed. “You’re lying,” he said. “Surely Potter—”

“Leave him out of this,” said Ginny sharply.

Draco studied her. There was a hardness, a determination in her glittering brown eyes that hadn’t been there before. Was it possible he’d struck a nerve? He ran a hand through his hair, remembering where her fingers had been minutes earlier. So soft, so tender— “I’m not impugning his manhood,” said Draco quickly, trying to distract himself. “Merely marveling at his restraint.”

Unexpected hurt flashed across her face. “That’s not funny.” She sat up and turned her back to him, so he could see only a galaxy of freckles and a nebula of ginger hair.

Draco’s lips parted in surprise. Was it possible Ginny didn’t realize she was beautiful? “You’d know if I were joking,” he said in a low voice. “Trust me.” All she had to do was look at him to realize the truth. Hell, she’d just admitted she’d never been deflowered, and his cock was still erect and ready to go, uncomfortably tight in his trousers.

It violated every rule teenaged Draco had ever learned. _Never sleep with a virgin. You don’t want that mess on your hands._ He heard it in his father’s voice.

Then he shuddered. That was the last voice he wanted to hear.

“Ginny . . .” he began carefully, and she shifted a little at the sound of her name. He put one knee on the bed, and her slight form dipped along with the mattress at his weight. “You do realize this . . . complicates matters. Don’t you?”

She glared at him over a freckle-dusted shoulder. “I know how sex works, if that’s what you’re asking.”

_Do you?_ A fierce, hungry craving rose up in him to hear all about how she’d learned. Did she read it in books? Or has she discovered it herself, with slippery fingers late at night? His entire body heated at the mental image that thought produced. He forced himself to be calm. “I could hurt you,” he said.

Now she turned fully to face him. He froze in place, halfway onto the bed, at the sight of her pale features. Her mask of stubborn animosity had dissolved far more quickly than masks were wont to do in Draco’s world. Suddenly he was faced with wide, earnest brown eyes and trembling lips, and the vulnerability within them was far too disarming for his liking. “It can’t hurt worse than everything else.”

He blinked at her. Is _that_ what this was about? Some quest to feel something, in a world where war and pain and suffering made one numb? It was just the sort of thing a stupid, foolhardy Gryffindor would do: feed herself to a stranger to cure loneliness. Create a much bigger problem than the ones she had already, just to escape them for a while.

And yet, for the first time all evening, Draco completely sympathized.

He, too, wanted to forget the world outside. He, too, wanted to feel something, _anything,_ just to prove he still could. And suddenly, deflowering Ginny fucking Weasley in the Leaky Cauldron on a Tuesday was no longer an interesting chore.

It was an unexpected blessing.

Maintaining eye contact with her, he brought his other knee up on the bed and began to crawl in her direction. Something must have changed on his face, because her softness slipped into something more guarded; fear, perhaps, or anticipation.

“All right, then, Weasley,” he murmured, stopping inches from her face. “You want to feel something? I’ll make you feel something.”

“I never said—” she began, but she stopped with a gasp as he brushed her hair away from her neck and planted a delicate kiss beneath her ear. She tasted amazing—like lavender and honey. Draco tried to maintain his own feverishly building excitement as he trailed kisses down to her collarbone. He would have to go slowly. He would have to make it _count._

Another moan escaped her as he nibbled at the hollow of her throat. Fuck, it was going to be hard.

In all senses of the word.

“Lie down,” he said, and her eyes fluttered open, revealing her stunned expression. A second later, she obeyed. Her wine-red hair spread out upon the white pillows like blood, and as she folded her hands carefully over her pale stomach, keeping her legs clamped together, she looked almost like a corpse. “Relax,” he whispered, bending over her and planting a kiss on her solar plexus.

She frowned at him. “I’ll try.”

He trailed kissed between her breasts, past her belly button, ending above the waistline of her skirt. “It’ll help,” he said. “I promise.”

Her breathing was heavy, pressing her breasts up above that delicious pink lace. “I take it you’ve done this before, then?”

“Once or twice.” He dipped his fingers beneath her waistband, and she chewed her lip, shooting her eyes up to the ceiling. Good. Distraction was good.

With his other hand, he began to drift his fingers lazily up the inside of her thigh once more. This was where his desire might overcome him. It almost had a few minutes earlier, as he read her soft, warm flesh like Braille. Each quiver of her thigh was a message: _yes. More. Keep going._ It made his own body tremble in answer—with frightening intensity.

But he managed to restrain himself, moving slowly, slowly higher beneath her hemline. With each pass, his other hand dipped lower beneath her waistband. Her eyes were closed now, her hand pressed into her palm as if to hold in those delicious moans.

Draco saw that hand as a challenge.

He would make it impossible for her to hold them in.

Yet no sooner had he decided this than his fingers met coarse curls beneath her waistband, and his other hand met slick wetness at the top of her thigh. A low growl escaped his throat despite his best efforts. Merlin, she would be the death of him.

“Weasley,” he said, ignoring the strain in his voice. “Please tell me you’re wearing knickers.”

She opened her eyes and lifted her head to look at him. “No,” she said shyly. “I left them at home.”

“You—?!” The words barely processed. His groin began to throb, and he had to look away from her in order to avoid flinging up her skirt right there and then. “I’m beginning to doubt Potter’s interest in women,” he muttered.

Her head flung back. “Please don’t mention him again.”

She was right. Nothing killed the mood like an ex-boyfriend. And Draco felt a flash of possessiveness that he couldn’t explain. All he knew was that the mental image of Potter with his hand inching up her creamy thigh made Draco want to punch something. Preferably a speccy face.

That was worrisome.

He forced the thought from his mind, moving his fingers northward again. When they brushed against hot velvet skin, Ginny made a pained sound. _Point one Draco,_ he thought. _Point zero, hand._

Then he slipped his finger inside her, and all thought of strategy evaporated.

She was tight and wet and small, so small it scared him. But he felt her clamp around him, squeezing, and he growled again. As his thumb swiped up, searching for that sharp little nub of pleasure, she arched up on the bed and moved on his finger, and he almost came in his pants right there and then.

“Holy . . .” she said in a whispered prayer, and he savored it. She moved again, and he moved with her this time. She made it so easy. 

As his thumb found gold, she gasped and jerked beneath him. He began to brush the pad of his thumb back and forth, gentle at first and then relentless. Her legs began to twitch. He slipped another finger inside, and her hands left her mouth completely to grip the blankets instead.

“That’s it,” he heard himself saying, though he’d never talked before during sex. Never felt the desire. He was certainly feeling the opposite of that now.

Now he felt far too much of it.

“That’s it,” he repeated, a bit louder. “You like it, don’t you? Like this?” His fingers pressed deeper in a coordinated movement with his thumb.

She cried out and nodded, and he felt her start to quiver around him.

“Or like this?” He pressed harder with his thumb, easing up on his fingers.

“Both,” she said weakly. “Don’t stop.” She was breathless.

“I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t stop until I’m finished.” He pressed deeper. “I won’t stop until you’re begging for it—” He swiped his thumb.

“Mm—” Ginny smothered her mouth with her hands, and he felt her come apart around him, trembling and tightening in wet hot spasms.

When he pulled his hands away, his entire body was shaking. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. _She_ was supposed to fall to pieces, not him.

He’d lost at his own game.

#

PRESENT

 

_You. Me. Together._

An awkward silence descended after Draco’s declaration. All those years waiting for this moment, desperate to know if Draco had felt something, too—and, upon receiving proof of that knowledge, Ginny could think of nothing to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said brusquely, jumping to his feet. “I shouldn’t have called you here. It was unfair. I wanted—” He stopped, clearing his throat. “Nevermind what I wanted. I’ll let you know if I hear from Scorpius.”

He was halfway to the door before Ginny could react. “Draco, wait!”

He paused at the threshold, lifting his head but not turning around. “Goodbye, Ginny.”

And then the door closed in her face.

No. Hell, no. She was not about to wait twenty-two years for another moment like this. Something occurred to her then: it was too late to change the past. But she could still alter the future.

She stood and raced down the hall after him. She could hear his footsteps reaching the bottom floor of the Cauldron. Coins clinked as he gave Tom payment for the room. The last step rose too quickly and tripped her, and by the time she righted herself, the back door of the Leaky Cauldron slipped closed.

He was gone.

#

PAST

 

Ginny tried to her best to appear calm, but the stars dancing before her eyes made that difficult. “Well,” she said into the heavy silence. Her voice was shaky and weak.

“Please tell me that was more than fine,” said Draco. The world righted itself in the wake of his casual tone. But as Ginny rose up on her elbows, peering down at him, something was left out of place. His voice had cracked. His cheeks were feverish red. And his nostrils flared as he struggled for breath.

His mask had slipped.

“Yes,” said Ginny. Seeing vulnerability on his face brought the truth out of her, almost involuntarily. “It was . . . amazing.”

He smiled at her. _Really_ smiled. A genuine one. Strange, how she couldn’t quite tell what was different—only that the smugness was gone. This was pure masculine pride. “You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I am,” she said, low and quiet. He seemed to catch onto her meaning, for the blush spread wider across his sharp cheeks. _I never expected this,_ she wanted to say. _I never expected that you could be . . ._

_Kind._

She pushed the thought from her head. This wasn’t kindness. This was desperation.

“Now what?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“If you have to ask, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.” He sat up on his knees, facing her, and he sounded serious for the first time all evening.

“I know how it works,” Ginny said impatiently. “I’m just wondering if you have any . . . preferences.”

His eyebrows lifted. “And what if I did?”

She sat up also, painfully aware of her shirtlessness again. “I don’t know. I’ll do my best, I suppose.”

That seemed to surprise a laugh out of him. He shook his head. “Just what every man wants to hear.”

“It’s not funny,” said Ginny stiffly. “I’m trying to make this enjoyable for you.”  
He sobered immediately. His eyes went all dark and stormy again, sharpening on her, and then he said, “Trust me. You don’t need to change anything to do that.”

_Trust me._ What a strange concept. And yet, that’s exactly what she had done, calling him here like this. Ginny hadn’t thought of it that way before—but as the words sank under her skin, filling her with warmth, she smiled. “All right. Thank you.”

He nodded once. Then a thought flashed across his face. “The birth control spell. Do you know it?”

Ginny shook her head. “I’m still sixteen. The trace . . .”

“Oh, right. You can’t cast it.” Draco stood and crossed to where their wands lay side-by-side, carefully lifting his. “That’s all right. I can.”

“Do I need to . . . do anything?”

He came around to her side of the bed and sat down beside her, nudging her toward the center of the mattress. “No,” he said in a murmur. “Just . . . relax. Lie still.”

So she did, shifting until she lay against the pillows once more. Her skin pricked with anticipation as Draco lifted his wand. But before casting anything, he simply dragged the tip across her skin, starting at the base of her neck, across her nipples, down her stomach. Just like that, her body came alive again, aching and wet and warm. She shivered.

Draco smiled.

“Mean,” she said, glaring at him, but he only smiled more broadly.

Then the tip of his wand stopped at her waistband. “You’ll need this gone,” he said, digging under it and pulling it down.

Adrenaline spiked in Ginny’s chest as she reached down and yanked the skirt off, shimmying until she could kick it to the floor. She slipped her stockings off at the same time for good measure.

Draco’s eyes darkened anew as he took in the curls between her thighs.

“Not a word about the carpet,” said Ginny, “or I’ll stab out your eye with your own wand.”

He glanced up at her and grinned. “Did I say anything? I didn’t say anything.”

“I could see it on your face,” she said. “You wanted to.”

He sobered again. He had a way of doing that, of shifting between sly humor and seriousness, as changeable as the weather in March. It was beautiful in its own way, she realized: the depth of emotion that he wore. “That’s not what I wanted to say.” 

“Then tell me.” She was feeling brave. She could make demands at last, after everything they’d just shared.

His eyes trailed down from her face, sliding across her breasts, trailing down her legs to her toes, then made their slow, burning way back up. By the time he reached her face again, she was squirming, her thighs sticky. His voice was quiet. “I wanted to say that you are beautiful.”

A sharp, piercing emotion caught Ginny by surprise. This wasn’t a dull ache that needed to be filled. This was a stab to the heart, a fire in her lungs, and she had to struggle to keep her voice even as she gave him the truth in response. “You’re beautiful, too.”

He shook his head. “Not like you.” He stretched out beside her, his trousered legs brushing her unclothed ones, and began to trail the wand over her skin again. In the warm silence that followed, his wand made its way to her pubis, resting just above her nest of curls. Then he whispered something, a word that Ginny couldn’t catch, and a warm sensation spread briefly through her groin.

A second later, it vanished.

He tossed his wand across the bed. His eyes flicked up. “Do you trust me?” he said, and he was utterly serious, his face utterly bare.

“Yes,” she said honestly. The word seemed to shiver through him, for he trembled ever-so-slightly before shifting up to his knees.

As she watched, his fingers stumbled to unbutton his trousers. He shucked them off, followed by his pants, watching her the whole time. He swallowed as his cock sprang free, and so did she, marveling at the odd shape of it, the idea that it would somehow _fit._

She sat up.

“You can take it back now—” he started to say, but the last word ended on a sharp gasp as she wrapped her hands around him.

“It’s so . . . velvety,” she said in wonder, half to herself, as she moved her hands up and down.

His hands covered hers, stilling them. “Sorry,” he said in a strangled voice. “Your fingers are cold.”

But she moved her hands beneath his anyway. “I don’t think they are.”

His eyes fluttered shut. “Fine,” he said, dropping his hands away. “If you want it to end like this—”

She stopped abruptly, and his eyes flashed open again. “Sorry,” she said.

“Mean.” But he was only throwing her own word back in her face, only joking with her, and a bubble of curious joy rose in her chest at the sound. This was playful. It was easy and freeing and _fun._

She hadn’t expected fun.

“Here,” he said, reaching behind her, and after a moment of struggle he released her bra. She let it fall down her shoulders, savoring the look on his face as she pulled it free and dropped it on the ground.

He actually licked his lips.

“Your shirt,” she reminded him. If she was to be completely bare before him—nowhere to hide—then he had to do the same.

Hastily, he shed it to the floor. Firelight played across his muscles as he moved, and holy shit, he was _gorgeous—_ firm pecs, ridged abs, a sharp vee of muscle pointing her to his core. She’d never expected lithe Draco to be so hard underneath.

He caught her looking, but she wasn’t embarrassed anymore, not now. She merely met him, eye to eye, her chest swelling with anticipation.

His eyes pierced the darkness. “Lie back,” he said, and she obeyed.

He fell forward around her, resting his elbows on either side of her face. She was suddenly caged in by him, and she felt _safe_ , safe for the first time in weeks. Months. She wriggled a little, curious about how it would feel, longing to touch more of his skin. A pained look crossed his face as she pressed her hips up into his groin.

“This might hurt you,” he said.

“I know.”

He met her stare, emotions roiling behind his gaze. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

She lifted her hands and splayed her fingers across his back, pulling her to him. He was so warm. “I know,” she said again, curling into him. Showing him that she hadn’t.

He sucked in a sharp breath. Then he reached down, and she felt his fingers brush the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. A moment later, he was pressing into her, just a little bit a first. Her body tightened.

“Try to relax,” he murmured. “I’ll go slow.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Just get it over with. I can take it.”

“But—”

“Just do it, Draco.” She stared up at him. She tried to imbue her gaze with all the complicated things she currently felt. _It’s okay. I trust you. Right now, I trust you._

He thrust into her.

A wash of pain went over her, yes, but it wasn’t at all like she was expecting. It pricked like a thorn within her, and it carried a sweet sensation, too—like the ache after a Quidditch game from riding a broom too long. She shifted a bit, breathing shallowly, and her body began to adjust around him. It was all very slick down there anyway. She glanced up.

“Okay?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“More than okay,” she said with a small smile. “I might even call it fine.”

He relaxed a bit, thrusting forward. “Such high praise, and I haven’t even earned it yet.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she admitted breathlessly as he thrust again. It was a strange sensation, mostly warm and wet and tight, but as he moved deeper within her, that warmth grew into a twist of red-hot pleasure. She moaned, and he thrust even deeper. Lighthearted conversation slipped away as Ginny lost herself to the rhythm he was creating. She felt her body respond on its own to his movements, rising and thrusting to meet him. His breath brushed her neck as she clutched him closer. His teeth nipped at her ear. Her fingers dug down his back, into his butt, pulling him closer. Learning the pathways of his ribs. Sliding into his hair. She pulled him into her with every muscle in her body: wrapping her legs around him, gripping him with her thighs, her arms, her hands. She would absorb him into her completely if she could. She became controlled by that one sensation, the movement of him inside her, filling her, and everything else ceased to matter.

“I’m not hurting you?” he whispered in her ear, his breath stirring her hair. “Should I stop?”

“Don’t stop,” she whispered back. “Don’t ever stop.”

He went faster. His thrusts became less fluid, more jerky and untamed. Ginny embraced it, letting the sensation of his powerless fill her. He, too, was losing control. But his hand on her waist was infinitely tender. His kiss at the base of her neck made her feel as delicate as glass. He was unraveling her and stitching her back together all at once.

The aching between her thighs built to a crescendo of pleasure. She tightened all her focus to that spot, yearning for the sensation that remained just out of reach. Her legs began to tremble, her hands digging too hard, but she didn’t care.

“That’s it,” said Draco in her ear, his own voice strained. “Give in.” He thrust deeper. “Give in, Ginny. You want to.” His voice cracked. He groaned. “I know you do.”

She did. She wanted nothing more than to obey that very demand. “Please,” she said, incoherent with desire. “Please, Draco—”

Then it started to happen, first with a strangled moan from his throat, then his pounding thrusts. She felt him breaking apart, losing control, and her own need reached its climax. Her body began to shake and tremble as violent spasms spread outward from her core. They fell over the edge together, plunging from a violent cliff into beautiful chaos.

The room went black. Draco fell forward, breathing heavily, his hair brushing the sides of her face. He started to lift himself away almost immediately, but Ginny held him down with her hands on his back.

“Stay,” she whispered.

And he did.

#

PRESENT

 

Draco ducked his head against spitting rain as he stepped out into Diagon Alley. He’d left the back way, hoping Ginny would run out into London and lose herself in the crowd of Muggles passing by. He could imagine it so easily. She’d get swept away in the opposite direction, and the next time he saw her, they’d pretend this had never happened.

Just like before.

How strange it had been, passing her in the halls of Hogwarts during his seventh year with his mask back in place. The events of his life had required it—and she’d known as well as he had that it was necessary, so he never allowed himself a shred of guilt over that. No, it wasn’t guilt he felt.

It was . . . longing.

She’d shown him that it was possible to exchange tenderness, even affection, in a way that no one had ever done before. She’d peeled away—no, _torn_ away his mask. And every other time that happened in his life, he’d been hurt afterward. But not with Ginny.

She taught him what to look for, when the war ended and he felt he could be in a real relationship again. She taught him that he liked playfulness, humor, but also honesty and trust. She helped him find Astoria.

That memory had been a beacon of hope for him, over the years. It was part of why he’d called her here. He wanted to tell her that. He wanted her to know what it meant.

He should have known better.

“Draco!”

He froze in the middle of the alley, turning to face the sound of her voice. Ginny ran toward him, the rain and wind blowing her hood back so that her face was in plain view. Merlin’s beard. He glanced around to see witches and wizards stopping in their tracks, whispering about two of the most recognized magic-users of all time.

“Ginny—” he growled in warning.

“Draco, wait. Please.” She reached him, and she actually _put her hand on his arm._ Bloody hell. A particularly brazen witch on the edge of the street started pointing at them.

“People are watching,” he said through gritted teeth.

Ginny didn’t so much as glance away from his face. If anything, her fingers tightened. “I don’t care. I have to tell you something.”

“Could you tell me somewhere other than the middle of the street?” The brazen witch was muttering something to her friend now. “I don’t want to end up in the gossip pages of the _Daily Prophet_. Or worse.” A sudden mental image of Harry brandishing a wand in his face just made him tired.

 “It doesn’t matter what people think,” she said hotly, drawing his attention back to her face. Merlin, she was serious about this. Her eyes were blazing hot, her cheeks red, her chin stubborn. “This is important.”

He swallowed. “Very well,” he said tightly. “I’m listening.”

Her eyes bore into his. “I’ve thought about that night countless times over the last two decades,” she said. “And before you get any ideas—it wasn’t because of _that._ ” He chose to ignore this statement, though part of him wanted to protest. “It was just that you . . . you taught me something. You showed me that beauty can be found in the most unexpected places. That someone hard and difficult and stubborn can be . . .” She smiled. “Pretty fantastic, actually.”

His mind went blank. Surely he had misheard her. He felt himself freeze and wondered if he would wake up in another moment and all of this would be a terrible, horrible, beautiful dream.

“Draco,” she began tentatively, her fingers spasming on his arm. “You said it yourself. We’ve both lived rather lonely existences.”

She seemed to be waiting for some kind of confirmation. That irritated him. He didn’t particularly feel like admitting that outside in the middle of the day, thank-you-very-much. “And?” he asked, scowling.

“And . . . I’m saying we don’t have to anymore. We could, you know. Be friends.” Her blush intensified, spreading across her entire face. “If you want.”

Utter shock again. This couldn’t be real. But the rain freezing his skin told him it had to be. And the whispers and murmurs of the people around them told him it would be real tomorrow, too. And the day after that.

Perhaps . . . forever.

“You want to be friends,” he clarified.

“Yes.”

“With me.”

“ _Yes,_ Draco.” Her smile became exasperated. “Honestly. You should give yourself more credit.”

That was what did it. He felt a smile growing across his face before he could contain it, blast her, and she was grinning back. This was the same lesson she’d taught him before: to believe that he deserved affection. And he was starting to hate that she was so good at it. “Very well,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual. “You have a deal. But could you please remove your hand now? I really don’t want to wake up to your husband standing over my bed tonight.”

Ginny laughed, letting him go at last. But it was only a brief respite. An instant later, she hooked her elbow through his, tugging him toward the Leaky Cauldron. “Come on, friend,” she said gleefully. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

#

PAST

 

A few minutes into the comfortable silence, Draco forced himself to move.

He slipped out and ended up on Ginny’s other side. Her eyes were closed. The firelight sent darkness skittering across her curves, hiding between her breasts, curling around her neck. She was a woman of fire and shadow, and she was lovely.

_Remember this_ , he told himself. _Remember this feeling, because you may never have it again._

Her eyes fluttered open. He glanced away, fumbling for his pants on the carpet. They would have to go back to how they were before, he knew. His mask would have to slide back into place. Only right at that particular moment, he was having trouble summoning it.

“Draco.” Her hushed voice stopped him mid-search. Then he heard rustling as she sat up, and a warm hand slipped onto his shoulder. She tugged at him.

He looked over.

“Thank you,” she said, startling him. Then she pulled him into a hug, crushing his arms at his sides. He couldn’t hug her back. He could barely move. But he managed to lift a hand and give her lower back an awkward pat.

She squeezed him even harder.

His eyes fell shut. An ache began at the center of his chest and spread outward, like she’d knocked over a candle and it was started a blaze. It burned its way through him, melting all the careful walls of ice he’d built. And in its wake, he felt a curious sense of rightness.

_This is out there for you,_ it said. _You can have something like this._

_You deserve it._

When Ginny pulled away, she wore a wry smile, but her eyes were sad. “What?” she said. “No thanks from you?”

His voice came out hoarse. “Thank you.”

She seemed to understand. He saw her swallow thickly and concentrate too hard on swinging her legs over the side of the bed. They sat side by side for a few more moments, their thighs touching, and then she said, “I have to get home. They’ll be wondering where I am.”

“Same,” he said. “I didn’t expect to be away this long.”

Another sad smile. “No. I reckon you didn’t.”

He stood up, making the act of pulling on pants and trousers into an elaborate show to avoid her gaze. By the time he was buttoning up his shirt, she was already dressed, cloak and all, and she was running her fingers through her hair, trying in vain to tame it.

Behind her on the bed was a spot of blood. His eyes landed there, and the surreality of the whole experience settled over him. _This really happened. To me._

She followed his gaze and turned bright red at the sight. “Oh,” she said.

“Sorry.” He fumbled for his wand, finding it on the other side of the bed, and magicked the spot away. “I should have checked. Are you all right?”

Ginny shifted on her feet, rubbing her legs together. Then she smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

“Real fine or covering-up-the-truth fine?”

“Real,” she said, meeting his gaze. And for a few seconds, he imagined what that would be like for both of them. To leave here and be fine, without threat from the very real dangers that lurked at home and at school. He wanted that so desperately that his chest began to ache again. But he could never have it, not in reality.

At least he’d had it here, for a few hours.

“I should go,” she said, pulling her cloak tighter around her.

He picked up her wand from the table and walked across the room to hand it to her. And as their gazes crossed once more, he felt he understood her at last—her need for comfort, for solace, to feel, to spend even a few hours without complete loneliness in a world that wanted them both dead. Their fingers brushed as she took her wand.

 “I won’t tell anyone,” he said in a low voice. “I promise.”

She smiled then, and it was small and sad and heartbreakingly beautiful. “I know,” she said.

And then she was gone.

#

THREE WEEKS AFTER ALBUS & SCORPIUS’S RETURN

 

The look of surprise on Harry’s face when Ginny came downstairs early, dressed and ready to go, was nothing to his expression when she told him where she was going.

“Let me get this straight,” he said slowly, running a hand through his already messy hair. “You’re going to a Harpies match. With Draco. _The_ Draco.”

“Do you know another one? I didn’t think it was a common name.”

“Don’t be smart,” he said, shaking a spatula in her face. “And besides, his name is Malfoy.”  
Ginny rolled her eyes, sneaking up beside him to peek at the pancakes he was cooking on their stove. “Yum.”

“None for you until you explain,” he said.

She glanced over at him. The shadows that had become permanent beneath his eyes during Albus’s disappearance had finally lessened. He might have acquired a few more gray hairs, but aside from that, he was as handsome as ever. Particularly wearing the old pink apron she’d purchased him as a joke in the early years of their marriage. “It’s very simple. Draco likes Quidditch. I like Quidditch. I get free tickets. We’re going.”

“But . . . It’s Draco.” Harry remained as baffled as ever.

“I know,” said Ginny patiently. “And he’ll be here soon.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Can you make extras?”

“For _him?_ ” Harry almost dropped the spatula.

“For Scorpius,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes. “He’s staying over while we’re out.”

Harry flipped the current pancakes, fiddling with the heat when he saw their color. Then he glanced up at her, a line between his brows. “Gin . . . this isn’t some kind of punishment for the way I behaved when Albus was missing, is it?”

She shook her head. “Harry James Potter. Didn’t you learn your lesson? Not everything is about you.” But she reached up on tiptoes and gave him a quick hug to make up for her words. When she stepped back, she regarding him simply. “Draco and I are friends now.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. At her look, he shut it, but the awe and shock remained in his green eyes. “You. And Draco Malfoy.”

“ _The_ Draco Malfoy.” Just then a knock sounded on their front door. Ginny grinned. “That’ll be him.”

“Wait.” Harry put his hands on his waist. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“If I asked you to give up Ron or Hermione, would you?”

Harry looked baffled. “You’d never ask me such a question.”

“Well, there’s your answer.” Ginny raised her voice. “Come in!”  
The door opened and the sound of delicate footsteps reached them in the kitchen. “We’re in here,” Ginny added, ignoring the storm on Harry’s face.

“Draco is not Ron and Hermione,” Harry hissed.

“Thank Merlin for that.”

Both Harry and Ginny turned at the low growl. Draco stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing a heavy black cloak and looking impeccable. His hand was on Scorpius’s shoulder, and the lad wore a tentative smile.

“Albus is upstairs,” said Ginny. “Harry’s making pancakes.”

“Pancakes? Wow, that’s great.” Scorpius beamed at her, then at Harry, then his father, clearly amused by the tension in the air. When no one moved or spoke, his smile faded. “Right. I’ll just go find Albus, shall I?” He hurried off down the hall before receiving an answer.

Draco sniffed. The silence grew. “Nice apron,” he said to Harry, who glanced down and grew extremely red.

“I gave it to him,” said Ginny. “Pink is his color.” Draco met her gaze, and she felt herself blushing.

“All right,” said Harry loudly, glancing between them. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

Ginny sighed. “I told you. Draco and I are going to a Quidditch match.”

Harry turned a glare on Draco, who merely shrugged.

Harry pointed his spatula at Draco as if it were his wand. “If this is some kind of sick joke to get back at me for something, I’d rather we just dueled.”

Ginny patted his fluffy hair. “There, there, Harry. Jealousy doesn’t suit you. I’ll be back in the afternoon, okay?” She pecked a swift kiss on his stunned lips. “Save me a pancake.”

She inched across the kitchen. Draco waited for her in the doorway, then waved for her to go first. Harry sputtered something, but she merely waved and said, “Bye, darling.”

A second later, they were outside in the front garden, preparing to Apparate.

“Leaky Cauldron?” she said. “Shall we get a cheeky pint before the game?”

Draco pulled out an ancient-looking silver watch on a chain from his pocket. “It’s ten in the morning.”

“Come on, Draco,” she said, reaching out her hand. “Live a little.”

A smile began to grow on his lips as she waited, palm raised. He put his watch away carefully, then slid his hands into hers. She squeezed his fingers, and with a pop, they were gone.

 

 

  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you liked it. Please let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> Also - if you couldn't tell, I am deeply obsessed with Alex Price's growly Draco voice. That is all.


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